Chapter 3: Poor Donald

On Thursday there was no message from Lena. But I guessed that she couldn’t go two days without her new lover, so on Friday morning, instead of waiting for her to beckon me at 8:00 a.m., I decided to take matters in my own hands. Shortly after 7:00 a.m., I walked briskly in the direction of her home, this time approaching from the back alley. Taking care to mute my cell phone, I hopped the low fence into the garden, and silently mounted the back stairs onto Lena’s secret patio. I waited a few minutes, listening for sounds or movement from within. But nothing.

Screwing up my courage, I tried the door to Lena’s bathroom. It was open! I slipped in, and crept carefully into the closet. The door on the far side of the closet was shut, but through the slats I could see all I wanted. Sure enough, there was Lena, and her husband again had his face locked between her legs. It was not quite 7:20, and Donald was already doing his best to warm her up.

This time, I was more mentally prepared to watch my lover in the arms of another man. It was such a pleasure to see her body naked and in passion, and I realized that from one point of view this was a rare treat. Watching her lithe form transform from inert lethargy into a thrashing tigress was a sight to behold.

Donald did not appear to be an inept lover, either. Perhaps a bit on the ‘eager to please’ side, and fairly conventional, but he did seem to be giving her pleasure. He had his cock into her by 7:30, and things seemed to be moving along well, but even as his pace started picking up around 7:50, Lena’s responses didn’t seem to be matching his.

Then I heard her begin to moan. So ... she was finally getting near climax? It was a little hard to tell. As her cries rose in volume and pitch, I compared those sounds to the sounds she had made with me. There was a difference. It lacked a certain inevitability. When she climaxed with me, it was like she was being dragged into it, and while it tended to last an amazingly long time, it actually hit her rather suddenly.

But here, it was building up slowly, rather theatrically. Theatrically! Oh my god, she’s faking it. She’s giving a performance!

And oh, what a performance. It was actually magnificent. If I didn’t know better, I would have swallowed this performance as the real thing. Sure enough, poor Donald couldn’t resist, and precisely one minute before 8:00 a.m., there he was, pumping his jism into her for all he was worth, while she was imitating a cat on a hot tin roof, spurring him to greater heights, getting him to come soon enough to get to the office on time. She really deserved an Oscar. I stared at her with a mixture of awe and admiration.

Poor Donald. With a sweet smile of triumph and devotion, he picked himself off the bed, gave her a kiss, and pulled on his biking clothes. I figured that he must shower at the office, because within a minute he was out the front door.

I watched as Lena sighed, with what seemed like a trace of disappointment. Then her eyes wandered over to the cell phone on her nightstand. She reached for it, typed a single word, and a moment later, I felt the faint buzzing in my pocket. I knew that word was “come”. She needed to come.